The Scargill Cove Case Files

the same kind of heart attack that killed Hooker.

    The wave of cold psychic energy comes at me like a tsunami, crashing across my senses. Killing energy. Fitch is generating it.

    Always knew there was something about Fitch. Guy is a powerful talent. Very few can kill with psychic energy.

    The icy mind blast is freezing my para-senses. Power like this can stop the human heart. I now know exactly what killed Hooker.

    I need to distract Fitch for a second. That’s all. One lousy second. I manage to talk. I know where the guns are hidden, I say.

    He doesn’t believe me but he doesn’t want to take any chances, either. The mind blast lessens a little. Where are they? he asks.

    And suddenly I know. Hooker gave me that information, too, in his coded message. But I’m not about to tell Fitch.

    I’ve got an opening. With my talent, I reach into the whirlwind of chaos and seize the power I need.

    I slam the chaos energy into Fitch’s aura, shattering his currents. He goes down hard. Dead before he hits the floor.

    I take a little time to get myself back under control. Killing a man takes a psychic toll. I’ll revisit this scene in my nightmares. Won’t be the first bad dreams I’ve had.

    I leave the body on the floor and go upstairs. Hooker stocked a lot of New Age books: meditation, dream theory, crystals.

    There are three shelves of books devoted to crystals. I find one that carries the logo of the Arcane Society. Open it.

    Book is hollowed out. Three small flashlights inside. The crystal guns. Hidden in plain sight.

    I go back down into the vault room. Crouch beside Fitch’s body. I know the authorities will call it natural causes.

    I feel a frisson of intuition. I unbutton Fitch’s shirt. Breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t find any mark on his shoulder.

    But I make the mistake of turning him over. Look at the back of his shoulder. A small tattoo. Looks like a tornado. Vortex.

Epilogue

    Monday morning. Some good news. Illusion talent sees fit to call in. Says I don’t have to worry about the serial killer anymore.

    I ask what happened to the rogue. The illusion talent tells me the guy drowned. Right. I don’t ask any more questions.

    No coffee. I head for the Sunshine Café. I sense the change when I go through the door. Good energy in the Sunshine today.

    Got a new employee, Marge tells me. Name is Isabella Valdez. New employee comes out of the kitchen. That’s when I know.

    Isabella Valdez is the source of the good energy in the Sunshine. I introduce myself. She pours coffee for me.

    Isabella Valdez is a talent of some kind. Very high grade. Another talent in this small town? What are the odds?

    I sit at the counter for a long time, thinking about Vortex. Just what I need, another conspiracy of rogue psychics to worry about.

    After a while I stop thinking about Vortex. I think about Isabella Valdez instead.
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Continue reading for an excerpt from
Book One of The Looking Glass Trilogy
    In Too Deep

    by Jayne Ann Krentz.

    Now available.

Fallon Jones: three years earlier . . .

    Paranormal fire burned in the darkness. Auroras of psi splashed across the ether. The night sky above San Francisco was ablaze with light from across the spectrum. Fallon Jones gripped the condo balcony railing with both hands, fighting to anchor himself to reality. There were spectacular patterns wherever he looked: wondrous, astonishingly intricate webs of connections and links that illuminated the path back to the heart of the universe.
    The dazzling radiance of the midnight world was compelling beyond anything he had ever experienced. He was certain that if he only looked closely enough, he would be able to distinguish the light from the dawn of creation, perhaps even grasp a fistful of the raw power of chaos that fueled the forces of life and death.
    “Good night for a walk, isn’t it?” Tucker Austin said.
    Fallon turned to look at the figure silhouetted in the opening of the sliding-glass doorway. There was something wrong. Tucker looked as if he stood on the other side of a waterfall. It was impossible to focus on him. He held something in his hand but Fallon could not make it out.
    “What are you doing here?” Fallon asked. He was vaguely aware that he sounded drunk. But he was almost positive that he’d had only one glass of wine with dinner.
    “We both know why I’m here.” Tucker moved out of the doorway and went to stand at the railing a short